


Algolagnia

by Xela



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, BDSM education, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Feathers & Featherplay, Flogging, Good BDSM Etiquette, Idiots in Love, Japanese Rope Bondage, Love, M/M, Masochism, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Paddling, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sensual Play, Service Top, Sex Club, Sex Education, Temperature Play, matt murdock: come early and often, pinwheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leave it to Foggy Nelson to have to teach Matt Murdock that all pain is not created equal, and whatever he needs is his for the asking. OR: Matt is the worst baby sub, and for some reason everyone expects Foggy to lead him down the <strike>primrose</strike> BDSM path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a fill for the kink meme. This turned into +11,000 words of Foggy and Matt getting their shit together because I am a massive failure of a writer. I apologize for everything.
> 
> This is complete, I'll update over the next few days as I self-edit and polish each chapter.

It’s the end of Sophomore year, and Foggy Nelson would like it to be known that he loves college. Loves it. It’s the first place where he feels like he can be himself and people actually _like_ him. He’s taking awesome classes about stuff that interests him, and he’s got a professor who’s really selling him on declaring pre-law next year. Bonus: he’s got a Matty now.

He was right about Matt and the ladies, too: dude pulls in an amazing class of woman. Much like Reagan, he was wrong about his trickle down theory, though. Most of Matt’s girls and their Matt-adjacent friends don’t really give him a second look. They’re very nice, but just...not interested. It’s kind of depressing, except Foggy does okay on his own. (Not like, Matt levels of dating, he’s not Blind Foggy Nelson, but he’s been told he has an adorkable thing going on and runs with it.)

But Matt usually likes to do his thing away from the dorm room, which: respect. So Foggy’s getting some decent study time in—Punjabi ain’t gonna learn himself—when someone knocks on his door. It’s unusual because most people respect the sanctity of a closed dorm room door, so Foggy puts his books aside to find out what’s going on.

Standing there is the hottest, most intimidatingly put-together woman Foggy’s ever met. Not a hair out of place, her outfit coordinates down to her socks, and featuring a permanent smirk that makes Foggy think she finds most of the world beneath her, though amusing.

“Oh. Hey! Hi. You’re, uh, Matt’s…the Greek...one…”

“Elektra,” she says, arching an eyebrow at him. He tried to teach himself that move one summer but never managed, which is unfortunate because it looks hella cool.

“Right! Elektra. Matt’s not here. Except. Didn’t you and Matt. Um.”

“We broke up.”

“Right! Natchios girlfriend any more.” Foggy makes a face at himself and bangs his head into the doorframe. “Shit. Sorry. That was not funny.“

“It was a little funny,” she says, smiling at him, and it really lights up her face. Right, he remembers liking her the couple times they met, more than most of the others.

“Matt still isn’t here,” Foggy says, and her humor leeches away.

“I know. May I come in?”

“Sure. Mi casa es su casa.” She nods regally at him and steps inside. Foggy dithers about whether or not he should shut the door and decides to leave it slightly cracked.

When he turns around, he finds her standing in the middle of their room, arms crossed, sharp eyes taking in every detail. Foggy feels judged. He feels judged on Matt’s behalf too. They live in a dorm, ok? Choices and space are limited. Still, Foggy quickly gathers up the clothes spread around his side and shoves them in the closet, aware of Elektra watching him.

“Would you like to have a seat?” Foggy asks, gesturing at the newly clothes-free, school-issued desk chair.

“Do you know why Matthew and I broke up?” Foggy bristles, because Matt’s pretty vocal about how much he hates being called by his full name and isn’t shy about telling people.

“ _Matt_ said it didn’t work out. Is there a reason you’re here talking to me about your relationship? We aren’t friends and I’m firmly Team Matt.” The smile she gives him is a razor, and Foggy feels like someone just walked over his grave.

“Matt’s a hardcore masochist with highly submissive tendencies who doesn’t actually trust anyone to top him, or trust himself to know his own limits. We broke up because he wanted me to go far past the bounds of safety, and I refused to be the instrument of someone else’s self-harm. His behavior isn’t healthy, and he’s a danger to himself and others.”

Well. That was…not what he’d been expecting. He’s not really sure _what_ he expected but it wasn’t…this. Foggy’s pretty sure he’s gaping stupidly at Elektra, who’s just watching him with this _expectant_ look on her face, and scrambles for something to say.

“Have all Matt’s girlfriends been dommes?” The look she gives him is _definitely_ judgmental, but Foggy has a process, okay? He likes to prioritize his information gathering, ease himself into the big stuff. Also it might explain a thing or two about why they’re not into him.

“He’s not really interested in anything else. And from what I hear, his tastes are...escalating.”

“Okay. Excuse me, I need to be right back.” Foggy lets himself into their suite’s shared bathroom, locks the door, and quietly freaks out. When he’s done, he forces himself to think through everything Elektra just said logically, bit-by-bit. When he’s unpacked it all, laid it out in his head, he opens the door with as much dignity that he can muster and reenters the room. Elektra perches primly in the desk chair, hands folded on her lap and looking way too calm for the bomb she just dropped.

“Okay. One—what you just did to me was really unfair and not cool. For a lot of reasons, but just springing that on a guy? Not okay. Try easing into it next time. Foreplay is a way of life. Two—super not okay that you’re telling me Matt’s secrets.” She starts to speak but Foggy cuts her off, “Nope, this is my time to talk, you used your time to be mean and rude. Now I’m telling you that outing someone without their consent is unacceptable. I’m pretty sure you know Matt would not appreciate you telling me these things.” He reminds himself to send his pansexual eldest sister an e-mail so she can share in his indignation. Without mentioning specifics, of course, but the First Rule still stands: Thou shalt not out. “Three—I really don’t know a lot about this stuff you’re talking about. I took human sexuality as my psych elective, and I may have, uh, dabbled in a few things, but that’s all, so I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to help. Other than tell Matt he’s being stupid, which I can do, a lot and loudly, but I doubt it’s going to accomplish much. Matt’s bullheaded. And I don’t know if he’d be into…” He motions to himself and trails off because wow, okay, that sounded way more pathetic than he intended. He had a four and five but he can’t remember them right now. Elektra arches a meaningful eyebrow at him.

“Oh. Right, I’m done. For now. I reserve the right to add to and revise my points at anytime in the future. You may have the floor.” Okay, definitely going pre-law.

“Thank you. You’re right. I apologize, this was poorly done of me.” The person underneath the perfect mask slips through. “I’m...still a little angry at Matt and may have unfairly taken it out on you.” 

“You know, Matt’s usually pretty good about staying friends with his exes. It’s almost supernatural. I can’t imagine what he did to make you so mad.” She’s silent for a moment, fidgeting with a bracelet around her wrist before she answers the implied question.

“I trusted Matt to tell me when to stop in a scene. I ignored my own instincts to try and give him what he wanted and. Well. Let’s just say it’s going to be a long time before I trust myself again.”

“Jesus,” Foggy says, running his hands over his face. Matt’s Catholic guilt and figurative self-flagellation has been a running joke between them. It doesn’t feel so funny anymore. Or so figurative.

“I know Kaitlyn Powers.”

“You know—oh. _Oh.”_ Foggy blushes. They’d dated casually for most of Freshman year. Kaity liked to be tied up, and they’d both taken some beginner rope classes together at a local sex shop, giggling like idiots when they weren’t pretending to be mature adults. But that was nothing like what Elektra is describing.

“The community is pretty small, and the school has an unofficial club. She’s one of the reasons I thought I could approach you.”

“I’m really not, like...deep into it.”

“I know. Kaitlyn said as much. No details,” she’s quick to say, hands up, “just her general impressions about you as a person and a dominant.”

“What do you think I can do?” Elektra smooths her flawless hair down and contemplates Foggy’s question.

“No one will scene with him. Well. No one respectable, or who knows what they’re doing. He wants too much, too fast. Once I realized he wanted things beyond me, I took him to a couple of clubs, tried to introduce him to a few experienced people who could help him figure out what he really needed. He wouldn’t listen. Wasn’t interested in taking things slow. He finds himself beginners and pushes them hard and fast, because they often don’t realize doms can and should safeword out as well. Finds himself the people who are just barely allowed in the clubs because we can try and keep an eye on them. He won’t safeword at all—doesn’t even like to admit he has one. He asks for things and _endures_ them. But most of all, he has no trust. In himself, in others, in the very things he’s asking for, to work.”

“And you think...”

“I think gender doesn’t play as big a role in Matt’s…needs as you believe.” Foggy doesn’t really agree with that, but whatevs. “I think you’re the only person in the world he does trust. I met you twice and honestly didn’t know Matt for all that long, but I know that you’re special. I can’t tell you what to do with that, but I can tell you that if Matt continues doing this…”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, his mind racing in circles. “Yeah. I get you.”

“You may. But the real problem? I don’t think he’s ever going to stop.”

***

Matt doesn’t come back to the dorm that night and Foggy can’t sleep for worry. Can’t help imagining what Matt’s doing, what’s being done _to him_ , trying to figure out why, what’s going on in that stupid head of his. So he does what he does best and starts researching. He’s got three separate sets of tabs going with a dozen sites each by the time Matt stumbles into the room and falls face first on his bed, fully clothed. Before tonight, Foggy wouldn’t think twice about it, but now he finds himself looking for any sign that Matt’s hurt, wanting desperately to go over and check for himself.

It becomes part of Foggy’s routine. He translates the small gestures sighted people take for granted, guides Matt around obstacles, and checks to see if Matt’s hurt. The last part is harder than it should be.

Matt’s pretty graceful for a human being, blind or otherwise—way more so than Foggy will ever be—but now that Foggy’s on the alert he sees the stiffness some days. Observes how tentatively Matt sits down, how he angles his back away from Foggy when he changes, but can’t hide the flinch when he pulls a t-shirt on. Once he catches a glimpse of bruises high on Matt’s wrists and barely stops himself from reaching out. He finds bloody gauze in the trash, and a big box of assorted band-aids in Matt’s desk, half used. Sometimes Matt smells of antiseptic and vinegar; when Foggy googles it, he finds out vinegar is good for treating bruises.

Matt knows something’s wrong, tries to talk to Foggy about it in that roundabout way he has. Normally that’s all the invitation Foggy needs but this time he plays coy, mumbles something about stress and school and dealing with it. Matt frowns but doesn’t push.

Foggy calls Elektra and they make summer plans.

\---

“Are you sure this is okay?” Foggy tugs at the sleeves of his black button up. He’s wearing a really old pair of faded black jeans that cling. Elektra had declared him passable in a weird tone of voice, so he’s going to trust her, but still.

Elektra rolls her eyes.

“You look fine, Foggy. Not everyone is into leather. The meanest dom I know only ever wears jeans and a grey t-shirt, so relax. Besides, the club’s technically not open.”

She’s taking him to a sex club. A BDSM-oriented sex club. It alternately excites and freaks him out. He doesn’t really know what to expect, but if he’s going to do something—and he hasn’t decided what—about Matt, he’s going to do it right. Research only goes so far and he will know all the things.

When they get there, the exterior of the club is pretty nondescript, just a gold-painted sign on a black background that says “Touché.” All the windows are opaque.

Inside there’s a small vestibule with a coat check station, unmanned at the moment, and two doors with no markings to choose from. Elektra breezes past, through the left hand door that leads into a well kept, well lit bathroom/locker room.

“There’s always a monitor in here during business hours. No one gets onto the floor without checking in. No cell phones, no cameras unless pre-negotiated with the House. They’re very serious about security.”

Inside looks...like a club. Seating on the periphery, a darkened stage at the front, two bars on opposite diagonals and a wide, open floor in the middle. The only difference is a preponderance of metal bars, d-rings, and the implements on the stage and in the corners. He recognizes a St. Andrew’s Cross from his research, and he thinks one of the tables on the side might be a vacuum bed. It’s all so...real.

“Jerand!” Foggy momentarily forgets how to function because the most model-gorgeous man he’s ever is seen is walking towards them. He’d even put Matt to shame, and now Foggy really does feel underdressed. And like he should go to a gym. At least twice.

“Elektra! We’ve missed you around here. Who’s your friend? He’s cute.” Foggy blinks as the force of that much good looking is directed at him. The man’s skin is a beautiful medium brown, he’s got full lips that naturally curve into a smile. His eyes legitimately sparkle. He thinks Foggy’s _cute._

“This is Foggy, he is, and he’s here to try and help Matt.”

“Ah. Good man.” Jerand slaps him firmly on the shoulder. Foggy kind of wants to melt into a puddle on the floor. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“We will. Thanks, Jer.” Elektra gets a hug and Foggy feels vaguely jealous.

“Who was [that beautiful man](http://www.fanphobia.net/uploads/actors/8955/boris-kodjoe-profile-picture.jpg)?” Foggy asks, awed.

“Jerand’s one of the owners and acts at the general manager,” Elektra says, smirking at him. “If you ever need help, he’s your go-to guy.”

“I really don’t think I’m heterosexual anymore,” Foggy says distantly.

“He has that effect on most people,” Elektra says, a little wistfully. “Now, let me introduce you to Cass and Elton. They’ll be able to answer all of your questions. They’re both practicing psychiatrists and volunteer as sex educators in their free times. Believe me when I say there is nothing you could say that they haven’t already heard before.”

Which is how Foggy starts his second major: Kinky Sex, with a concentration in sadism and a minor in bondage. It’s actually a great way to spend summer break. 

Bondage 101 begins with what Cass calls ‘proper BDSM etiquette.’ It comes with a list of words, phrases and acronyms Foggy’s expected to know (he’s proud to say he could probably define about half this based on the reading he’s already done). These things can get surprisingly complicated and specific; it alternatively eases Foggy’s mind (he is aaaaallllll about the enthusiastic consent, that is fantastic, why hadn’t he heard about this concept sooner??) and worries the hell out of him (because he can’t imagine doing this without all those safeguards, which Matt undoubtedly is). 

Somewhere around his 200-level classes, Cass and Elton have an incredibly entertaining (though slightly mystifying) argument about the relative merits of [“Safe, Sane and Consensual (SSC)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Safe,_sane_and_consensual) versus [“Risk Aware Consensual Kink (RACK)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Risk-aware_consensual_kink) as fundamental BDSM philosophies. Foggy’s pretty sure he knows where Matt will fall.

It takes a while for Foggy to cotton onto the fact that Elektra introduced him to, like, the Who’s Who of New York’s BDSM community. They all know each other, and Foggy meets other people, a few he recognizes from the society pages, though Cass and Elton are his main mentors. Jerand has the most zen aura Foggy’s ever encountered. The man answers any and every question with professional thoroughness and lack of judgment, and knows _everyone._ He’s like a walking rolodex of kinksters; you have a question about something, he’ll tell you who to talk to. 

Jerand’s the person Foggy goes to with his concerns about Matt’s straightness. He’s also the first person he actually admits his own non-straightness to. He doesn’t feel like ‘bisexual’ fits, but he hasn’t really stumbled upon any label he wants to claim, either. He leaves that conversation with some reading on platonic kink and relationships, as well as an assurance that if he decides his sexuality is “Whatever Foggy feels like today,” that’s as acceptable as any other label. He also gets a hug, which, yeah: _definitely_ not straight.

Sometimes Foggy feels guilty about taking up so much of their time, ‘cause he isn’t even really into all this stuff. Well. Most of it.

Okay, yeah, he kind of likes tying people up. Ropes are fun, probably his favorite part, and he likes what Cass calls “sensual sensation play.” But the whole hitting-whipping-bruising aspect of it isn’t really his jam, though after he figures out safewords and limits and negotiating he finds he doesn’t _mind_ it. He’s just never going to get off on it. (Not like the first time he sees Cass scene with her submissive; there’s something about their energy, the feedback they get from one another, that’s erotic and mesmerizing. He discovers he may be something of a voyeur.)

He stutters over explaining this jumble of thoughts to Cass, who looks at him fondly.

“Darling boy. No one is ever 100% into what someone else is. We all make compromises between, with, and for our partners, regardless if it’s in a scene or a more ‘vanilla’ relationship. The important part is that you don’t do something that _harms_ you. Or your partner. If you hate something someone needs to be happy, you figure out how deal with it. Even if that sometimes means going your separate ways.”

“Oh,” Foggy says. He’s probably learned more about having healthy relationships in these last few months than the entire rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Summer passes and Junior year finds Matt and Foggy rooming together again. Foggy tries not to stress about the trouble Matt might have gotten into over the summer when he wasn’t around. He’d made an awkward play to get Matt to crash at Casa Nelson, but as much Matt loves Foggy’s family (and Foggy’s family adores him in return), he can only take the chaos of the Franklin household for about three days before he starts looking pained. Matt prefers his own, much quieter space for the most part. 

A month into the semester, Foggy’s still dithering about what to do with Matt (and how to do it, he’s not going to pull an Elektra and just drop that bomb out of the blue), when the man in question stumbles home late one night, punch-drunk and clumsy. His usual grace is nowhere to be found; he must run into every piece of furniture in their dorm room trying to find his bed, which is a straight shot from the door.

Foggy’s fallen asleep reading again, so there’s just enough light that when he wakes up to Matt bumping into his desk and sending something clattering to the floor, he sees the thin line of russet red against the clear white of Matt’s shirt as he strips out of his cardigan. It takes him a sleep-addled minute to recognize what it is and—

“What the _fuck,_ Matthew!”

Matt jumps and loses his balance, arms trapped in his sweater. Foggy barely gets to him in time to direct his fall onto the bed.

“Foggy! Heeeeeey. What’reyou—” But Foggy’s already yanking Matt’s shirt up, examining the inexpertly placed marks on Matt’s back and he gets really, truly angry for the fifth time in his life.

Matt’s back is a mess of bruises and welts. Lash marks cover most of the skin, more than a few wrapping around his ribs onto Matt’s front. There are at least four places where the skin cut open, stripes of rust colored blood smeared over abused skin. No one’s tended or treated them. He’d guess the damage was done by a single tail, except some of these marks look to hard for that. Foggy reaches out with a shaky hand and lightly follows the snaking curl of one vicious welt. Matt gasps and pitches forward, head hanging down.

_“Foggy.”_ He’s never heard Matt’s voice sound that way and for a second it derails Foggy because it sounds like sex. And then like panic. “Foggy! You don’t understand, it’s not what you think. I can explain—”

“They used a cane,” Foggy says, appalled. A cane over soft tissue and organs, near his _spine_.

“What?”

“You don’t use a cane on anything but the butt and upper thighs, maybe the upper shoulders, unless you’re really, really good. You can damage organs. Break skin. Bruise bone. Cause serious damage. Matt. What the hell are you thinking?”

“How do you know all that?”

“Don’t move.” Foggy retrieves the emergency first aid kit Elton tricked out for him. There’s some prescription-strength cream in there and Foggy has to wonder if he saw something like this coming. He grabs a bottle of water and a blanket as well.

“Drink this,” he says. Matt takes the bottle and moves as if to speak. “Don’t talk to me right now.” Matt shuts his stupid mouth with a click. He tucks the blanket around Matt’s front, leaving his back exposed. He smears the cream liberally over Matt’s cuts and bruises, doing a spot-check at the same time, another thing Elton taught him that Foggy’s so, so thankful for. Doesn’t seem to be any internal damage, no swelling that he can detect though he’s far from an expert.

Unlike every other submissive Foggy’s worked with, Matt’s strung out rather than mellow or relaxed in the aftermath of a scene; his muscles are like rocks underneath Foggy’s hands, speaking to a deep-seated tension that goes far beyond the awkwardness sitting heavy between them.

“You seem, uh...good at this,” Matt finally says, head tilted towards Foggy, who’s getting close enough to Matt’s pant line that he’s considering the ethics of demanding Matt strip down completely. There’s no telling what kind of abuse he’ll find on Matt’s ass and thighs. Be he doesn’t know what Matt’s mental state is, or how the order will be taken. He’s clearly not obeying Foggy about the shutting up thing, but that doesn’t mean much.

Shit, what if Matt goes into subdrop? What’s Foggy supposed to do then? A depressed Matt would be terrible; the man already has the whole Catholic guilt weight-of-the-world thing going on.

“Foggy?” Foggy gives it up as a bad idea and moves to sit in front of Matt. Some of the damage has spilled onto his chest. He lays his hand over a particularly dark, vicious cane mark high on Matt’s shoulders. It’s warm to the touch and slightly swollen, really close to the scapula. Foggy makes a note to keep an eye on it.

“I know how to use the internet, Matt.” It’s an equivocation, but Foggy doesn’t feel up to talking right now, and he really doubts Matt is either. Matt clearly doesn’t believe him, lips pinching together in that way he gets when he knows someone’s lying but doesn’t want to call them out. Foggy sighs. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

Matt makes an inarticulate noise Foggy takes for agreement, then slumps forward until his head rests against Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy pauses, just for a moment, and then gently wraps Matt up in a hug. He realizes Matt’s shaking a little under the blanket, fine tremors that pulse through him. He holds Matt until the shaking subsides and they’re sitting in the low light, the night getting older.

Foggy is abruptly bone tired and done with today.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep,” he says, voice low. Matt doesn’t say anything, but his fingers tighten briefly in Foggy’s shirt before he pulls away. Foggy tucks Matt in, making sure there are painkillers and a bottle of water within easy reach.

Sleep takes a while.

\---

Foggy wakes up feeling groggy and hungover. For the millionth time he bemoans the lack of room service in the dorms into his pillow. Does the school even realize how much money they’re missing out on here?

“Foggy.” Matt’s voice is muggy and amused. “Are you thinking about dorm room service again?”

“...it would be super efficient and profitable!” Matt huffs a laugh and Foggy finds himself grinning. It feels normal, which just sends reality raining on Foggy’s parade. Foggy rolls over onto his side to look at Matt, who is stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow and back exposed to the air.

Tension blankets the room. Foggy’s really bad at waiting people out, but in this case he can’t figure out how to broach the subject. However, Matt has never been overly forthcoming and would probably outlast a brick wall.

“So,” Foggy says, “you wanna start?” Matt sighs.

“I know you don’t understand. But I need this.”

“No you don’t.” Foggy sits up so he can glare properly at Matt. Imagines lasers shooting out of his eyes and hitting Matt square in his stupid, bruised, well-defined chest.

“Foggy, I—”

“No one needs this, Matt. This is so wrong I don’t even know where to _start_ with you. Jesus, did you even discuss limits? Because I can’t imagine someone who _caned you over the kidneys_ was really diligent about asking what your soft and hard limits are, much less respecting them! And was there any aftercare at all? Because didn’t see any evidence of treatment on your back, buddy, and I’m going to bet dollars to doughnuts they were never supposed to draw blood, that you never talked about that. Whoever you hooked up with is a fucking amateur who needs a caning— _on the backside_ —and some corner time to think about what they did!” That last part came out pure Cass, whom Foggy has seen put the fear of God into more than one baby kinkster over the past few months. Her favorite method is to make people—wannabe subs and doms alike—stand with their nose touching the corner and their hands behind their head. When Foggy had questioned this method of punishment, Cass had dryly suggested he try it out himself. He’d be surprised to realize how hard it was to keep your arms up like that for an extended period of time.

“How—”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your safeword, Matt. What was it?” The silence turns mulish and stubborn. “Matty.”

“It wasn’t serious. Just a one night stand.”

“That is not an answer. Moreover, that’s a situation where you need one the most.”

“Moreover?” Matt asks, sounding amused. Foggy is not buying Matt’s bullshit. Not today.

“Stop it, Matty.” The humor bleeds out and he’s once again left with quiet, brooding Matt Murdock. 

“What do you know about it, anyways?” Matt says, all challenge and defensiveness. Foggy remembers Elektra’s words from so long ago, about Matt’s trust issues, and figures in for a penny, start as you mean to go on and all that jazz.

“I know how to hit someone without drawing blood,” Foggy says pointedly. “And I know about your, uh, tastes. Elektra told me. A while ago.” The tension zings through Matt’s body, like someone ran electricity through him. “And about why you broke up.”

“We weren’t compatible,” Matt says shortly.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Foggy says. He gets up and shuffles over to Matt, sits on the edge of the bed. “She’s scary, but means well. And I totally yelled at her for breaking your trust like that, but. She’s very worried about you. People who don’t know you are worried about you. And I know that freaks you out.” Matt’s not really a center stage kind of guy; he prefers to sneak up on you like some kind of social ninja and then slink away while you’re trying to figure out what just happened.

“Foggy—” Foggy presses into one of Matt’s less vicious bruises, right on the meat of his shoulder. He gasps and... _ripples_ , simultaneously trying to arch into the pain and get away from it. Buries his face in his pillow as if that’ll hide anything from Foggy.

“I’ve been studying this stuff. For you.” It’s weird to articulate. It’s been almost five months since Elektra waltzed into his life and turned it upside down and he’s never actually come out and said that this has all been for Matt.

“Oh.” Matt has that same look on his face as when Foggy first met him and called him handsome.

“Yep. So let’s make a deal. Or, no. let’s make a _promise._ I do understand that there’s something in this you need. Something in the pain, and maybe in the submission, or an in between, all of the above kind of thing. But if—when, when you need something like this, you come to me, and I’ll take care of it. We’ll do it right. No, like, sexy stuff, but I’ve learned a lot, enough to give you something like this, but safer,” he waves his hand at Matt’s back. “I’m motioning to your back, by the way. Anything I don’t know we can figure out together. Okay?” Foggy’s never considered himself really ‘dominant,’ not in the way Cass just exudes control and Elton can turn it on as he pleases. But right now? Right now Foggy feels like everything is sharp and clear, the world in bright focus, and he is in control. Admittedly, his world is mostly Matt.

“Matt. Do we have an agreement?”

“Yes.” Foggy feels a moment of relief before he realizes the massive responsibility he’s just taken on. He won’t let his best friend down. He can’t.

***

They don’t really discuss it again. Matt’s jumpy and weird around him for a while, but Foggy treats him exactly like normal—save for his insistence on making sure Matt’s back heals well—and after a couple weeks they settle back into their easy friendship. They go drinking, and discuss futures, and they’re going to be the best damned avocados New York has ever seen. Watch out, world! (Matt still won’t give him any more details on what went wrong with Elektra, but that may be a stone better left unturned.)

That’s when Foggy leaves the massive stack of reading he’s been secretly printing on Matt’s braille printer inside Matt’s “Constitutional Law through the Lens of Higher Education” class folder. It covers everything from SSC/RACK (yeah, Matt’s RACK all the way, go figure), to limits and why they’re important for both parties, and one in particular about the potential consequences for the _other party_ if someone doesn’t safeword out when things go too far. Matt may hurt himself, but Foggy is staking his mental health on the fact that Matt won’t do anything to hurt him. 

It also includes a checklist of various interests and kinks. Matt leaves that tucked in the pages of Foggy’s “Introduction to Human Rights” textbook. With comments in Braille. Murdock thinks he’s got jokes. It takes Foggy a couple of days to translate everything in between his homework assignments, but to be fair he’s faster at reading braille by the end of it than he was when he started, so there’s that. It’s also thoroughly unsurprising that Matt only marked interests and full-on YESes rather than setting any kind of limits. Some of the yes-stuff is sexy stuff, but this is a general list, and Foggy’s really not sure what to make of that. Snark is not a stated limit, and an absence of ‘no’ is not a ‘yes,’ damn it, Matt.

It takes a little over a month before Matt breaks. Foggy watches him get increasingly jumpy and fidgety and unfocused until he comes home to Matt sitting rigidly on his bed, cane clutched in hand and unseeing eyes darting around the room.

“Hey,” Foggy says, keeping his voice steady. Inside he’s nervous and scared and anticipatory and all sorts of other things. Matt frowns, head tilting like he’s listening to something far away. “Matty?”

“I, uh.” Matt clears his throat, flustered, but Foggy waits. “I need...you know.” Cass and Elton would have a field day with how terrible Matt is at expressing his own wants.

“Okay. How bad?”

“What?”

“Can you give me a couple days to arrange a few things? Or do you need it now? I mean, the dorms aren’t really great for this, people are nosey, but I’m sure we could come up with something.” Matt’s got that weirded out look on his face again, like Foggy might have been replaced with a pod person.

“No, I, ah. I can...wait. For you.”

“Cool, man. I’ll let you know real soon, okay?”

He calls Cass, Elton, and Jerand on his way to class. He dithers about calling Elektra, but she’s Matt’s ex and that seems...weird. And maybe a bad idea. They text occasionally, check in with one another, but he doesn’t offer her any specifics and she doesn’t ask, so.

By the time he gets out of class he has three messages on his phone and a text from Jerand offering him a back room during non-business hours, for as long as he needs it. They all agree to be at the club Wednesday from 5 on for him, as long as he needs them there, and Foggy loves them each so hard right now.

\---

Monday night, Foggy tells Matt to clear his Wednesday evening so he has a limited amount of time to brood on things. Matt doesn’t ask for specifics so Foggy doesn’t offer them. Foggy’s not quite sure what to make of that. Being blind, specifics are usually necessary for Matt to move safely and confidently through the world. It’s a humbling reminder of the position he’s in.

They don’t talk a lot on the way to the club. Because Foggy is terrible at estimating trip times, they end up at Touché later than he intended.

The usual level of quiet preparatory bustle for a bar is going on. The bartender is doing inventory with some of her staff, a couple bar backs are mopping the floor, a few of the Monitors are checking over equipment, talking and joking around. There are a few regulars just hanging out casually, all people Foggy knows.

No one makes a big deal out of them being there, which Foggy is grateful for.

“Is this...a club?” Matt asks, and Foggy feels like a jerk. He’s been so wrapped up in his own head he forgot to talk Matt through what was going on.

“Oh, sorry! Yeah. Kinda. It’s called Touché.” Matt grins, a bit grimly, his cane tapping rapidly against the floor. “There are two locker rooms, we came through one to get in here. But they’re only nominally men’s and women’s. There’s, uh, overlap? Like, some people fit in with the ‘atmosphere’ of one more than the other? I haven’t really figured it out. I’ve only been here during regular hours a few times.”

“Huh.”

Jerand nods to him from where he’s talking to the bartender and flashes Foggy seven fingers. Room seven is their, then. He glances to the other side of the room at Cass and Elton’s usual table, and almost laughs because they both have tiny, sparkly pompoms that they shake in his direction when they see him looking.

“Yeah. It seems to work. This place is safe. We’re on the main floor. It’s kind of like a warehouse? Very minimalist, bare walls and floors, open floor plan. There are seats and tables against the sides. And some, um, specialty furniture too. A lot of it can be moved into the center as needed. There’s a stage across from us that’s used for...displays.”

“Displays. Right.” There’s nervousness to Matt that hasn’t been there before.

“Yeah, but we’re going to the back. There are rooms there. We have one of the private ones.”

“Okay. Lead on, MacDuff.”

Their room’s pretty Spartan: bar walls, one with striking implements affixed to it like a mechanic’s tools; a pair of leather cuffs dangling from chains on the ceiling; a comfortable pallet in one corner, with Foggy’s first aide kit beside it, and the same blanket he’d wrapped Matt up in what feels like a lifetime ago, as well as water, granola bars, and chemical ice packs. That’s it.

Foggy describes the layout to Matt as he sets down their bag by the pallet. When he’s done, he takes a deep breath and reminds himself Jerand, Cass and Elton will be within summoning distance for as long as he needs them. He’s not alone in this. Matt is not alone in this. And Matt _needs_ this.

“So. Okay. House rules apply—that means the light system is in place. You know what that is?”

“Red, yellow, green,” Matt murmurs, ears turning red.

“And they mean...?”

“Foggy,” Matt whines, tapping his cane harder on the floor. Foggy steps right into Matt’s space, deadly serious, and Matt freezes.

“My room. My rules. I don’t care how stupid you think they are, you will answer every question and do exactly what I say. You hear me?”

“Y-yes,” Matt breathes. Foggy stays there for another second, then steps back.

“Well?”

“Red for stop. Yellow for slow down. Green for go.”

“Good,” Foggy says, short and clipped. “Strip down to your boxers, but you may choose whether they remain on or not.” Matt takes off his shirt, folds it, and then hovers uncertainly. Foggy steps in to take it from him, does the same with Matt’s shoes, socks, and pants, setting them by the bag. Matt’s tight, thin black briefs remain on, which is just a little bit relieving and just a little bit disappointing.

“Do you want to explore the room?” Mat thinks about it, shakes his head no. “Alright.”

Foggy guides him to the center of the room where the cuffs are set up, takes Matt’s hand and shows them to him.

“When you’re ready, put them on.” That startles Matt, but Foggy doesn’t offer him an explanation. Matt runs his fingers over the soft lining, supple leather, and high quality stitching. They’re specifically designed so they can be self-tied with a bit of effort (and are easy to release in case something goes wrong), and there’s currently enough give in the chains that Matt can use his other hand to help. It isn’t until Matt’s buckled in, testing the give and weight of his bonds, that it truly hits Foggy that _this is real._ He’s going to do this for his best friend. Beat his back until it’s bruised and he’s exorcised whatever demons haunt him. Holy shit.

“Foggy?” Matt asks, sounding small. Right, this is so not about Foggy right now. He rolls his shoulders to loosen up the tension. He steps up and hugs Matt from behind, lets them both just...be, in this space, together. He needs the grounding, and Matt only stays tense for a couple of breaths until he leans back into Foggy.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.” Foggy rubs his cheek against Matt’s shoulder, then steps to the side and adjusts the chains until Matt’s stretched upward, feet flat on the ground, arms straight above him. He can get a little slack by rocking up on the balls of his feet, but not much. Foggy tests this by poking Matt in the back and making him rock forward. He gets away with it twice more before Matt growls at him. Foggy can’t help the giggle that breaks free. He catches sight of Matt’s face and sees the half-smile he can’t quite quash and thinks: I can do this.

He pets Matt’s back, grounding himself, letting Matt know he’s there, just ‘getting the feel for the muscle.’ He can feel Matt start to get antsy at the contact, the intimacy of it, eager to get on with things. Tough cookies, Murdock. Foggy keeps touching and fussing with things until Matt breaks.

“Fog-gy,” Matt says petulantly, rattling the chains.

“Color, Matthew?” he says primly, and Matt huffs.

“Hulk green.” Foggy can’t help but laugh at that. Smart ass.

“Just for that, I’m going to spend the rest of tonight tickling you with feathers.” Matt turns and glares in his general direction. “Just kidding, that’s for later.”

He warms Matt up with a rubber flogger. It’s an obnoxious orange color and not really meant to hurt, just bring the blood up to the surface. He swings it in a figure 8, keeping up a steady, continuous stream of hits. He uses the color of Matt’s shoulders to judge the parts of him he can’t see. When he’s satisfied, he replaces the flogger and checks in on Matt.

He looks…like he’s at a movie that’s taking too long to get to the good part. Patience, thy name is not ‘Matt Murdock,’ but it is ‘Foggy Nelson,’ and he’s the one in control but this metaphor has gotten away from him.

Foggy’s selects a flicker whip to start with. He takes it off the wall and lets Matt “see” it by running it over Matt’s shoulders and down his back. It’s a long, fairly rigid implement with a short popper on the end. It should sting nicely while letting Foggy keep maximum control. He steps back to the proper distance, takes a few practices swings, and pauses. Waits until the tension in Matt builds from waiting.

Right when he thinks Matt is about to lose his mind, Foggy gives his first direct order:

“Ask.”

“What?” Matt’s entire demeanor changes. He stands a little straighter, puts his ‘study face’ on, a little furrow appearing between his eyes. His attention is focused solely on Foggy for the first time.

“You’re going to ask for every hit,” Foggy says. One of the best parts of being mentored by a couple of shrinks? They’re really on point in giving him tips on how to differentiate himself between anyone who came before. A major part of BDSM is psychological, and that part’s been underserved for Matt so far. So Foggy is going to make Matt engage. He’s going to have to ask for what he thinks he wants, instead of enduring whatever someone throws at him. “I fully expect you to safeword out if it gets to be too much. However, if you can’t ask, or can’t stay on your feet anymore, I’m taking that as a red. Got me?”

“Yes.” 

“Good. Whenever you’re ready.”

Time ticks by, almost a full minute by the time a hoarse, “Please,” makes its way out of Matt’s throat. Foggy lets fly, lands his strike land heavy on the curve of Matt’s shoulder. Matt gasps, back arching.

“Again,” he says, voice firmer, and Foggy started moving the moment he took in the breath so the blow lands bare milliseconds after Matt speaks, right underneath Matt’s shoulder blade. He rocks forward, the chains clinking. 

Matt sets a fast pace that gains momentum, until he’s chanting, chasing his high. Foggy directs the whip over Matt’s upper shoulders, then down to his ass and thighs. Other than Matt’s requests and the sound of the whip falling, the room remains oddly quiet. If he weren’t under orders to ask for what he wanted, Foggy thinks he wouldn’t have heard anything louder than a grunt out of Matt. 

At twenty-five Foggy’s sweating and his arm throbs a little. And Matt’s clearly not getting enough out of the flicker, light as it is. Time to switch things up.

“Yellow,” Foggy says, and Matt stumbles over his next “again.” At least he respects the system (when it comes from someone else).

Foggy strips off his shirt and grabs a bottle of water, chugging half and then giving Matt the rest. He trails his fingers over Matt’s red skin, pushes down on some of the darker marks and makes Matt moan softly. He hadn’t been thinking about this sexually until that very moment, and hastily backs away. They have not talked about that aspect at all.

“I’m switching to a stock whip,” Foggy says, his voice a little shaky. It has a long, rigid handle, a longer, more flexible thong than the flicker; it’s a more serious whip and will make a much louder noise as well. Foggy’s going to focus this one on Matt’s ass and thighs.

“Color?” Foggy prompts.

“Green,” Matt assures him.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“May I have another?” Matt asks; it’s jokey, but there’s a note of pleading underneath. He jumps more from the sound of the first strike than the pain, Foggy thinks, but Matt definitely feels the difference. Foggy can do a lot more damage with a lot less strength. The first few strikes are Matt trying to figure it out; Foggy keeps him guessing, varying the strength and placement. One hit is just a whisper of sensation, and Matt’s next _”again”_ carries frustration with it.

He’s even quieter than before, wrapping his hands around the chains to steady himself. But soon enough his asks start to feel…lazy. Rote. Like he’s just humoring Foggy. This isn’t enough for him and he’s getting bored. 

Foggy counts thirty strikes before Matt starts slowing down. He’s breathing a little harder, and sweat makes his skin glisten, but the tension is still there in his muscles. In his very voice. For the next five hits, Foggy really bears down, making Matt grunt and flinch. The five after that are softer, teasing, and Matt lets himself sag into the cuffs with a sigh of, “another.”

He’s trapped on an edge and he’s given up hope of being pushed over it. He’s just done the one thing that, until now, has always separated him from everyone else: underestimated Foggy.

“Another,” Matt says, even and unenthused. Foggy accommodates his request. There’s a brief moment where Matt realizes something is different and then he’s rocking forward, trying to take a step but the chains jerking him up short, a loud shout building in his throat. 

After a few failed attempts, he sucks in deep, ragged breath.

“What—“ Foggy lays a matching strike on Matt’s other ass cheek with the Dragon Cane he used Matt’s bored distraction to pick up. It’s thin, whippy, and it cuts like nothing Foggy, personally, ever wants to feel again. The one test hit Cass laid on him did Foggy in for a day; the sensation _lingers._ Matt literally tries to haul himself _up_ the chains, his legs leaving the ground with a shout. It’s almost a full pull-up before Matt crashes back to the floor, his knees buckling on contact.

Foggy’s behind him instantly, supporting Matt with an arm around his chest. Matt leans back into him and there are tears on his face, flowing free. Matt can’t even keep his head up, allowing it to fall against Foggy’s shoulder.

“Just breathe through it,” Foggy advises. Matt turns slightly so his nose brushes against Foggy’s cheek, breath shuddering out in soft pants.

“Color?” Foggy asks, lips moving against sweat-slick hair.

“Green,” Matt says, shaky. “God, please.”

“Alright.” He tilts Matt up till his legs are back underneath him. Finally, _finally_ , the tension is ebbing out of Matt.

“Again, please,” Matt says, and he sounds reverent. Foggy makes him wait before striking him roughly in the same place as last time; he could be more precise if he could see the mark he left, under Matt’s thin briefs. Matt jerks, chest heaving. Matt’s voice gets more ragged, more strained; he’s close to sobbing.

“Foggy. Foggy, Foggy, p-please. I...” Foggy has placed all the blows on Matt’s ass so far, and they’re both reaching their limit. He goes with his instinct and lays this one across Matt’s shoulders, with as much force as he feels comfortable with. 

The reaction is incandescent.

Matt screams and his knees go, his muscles practically liquefying. Foggy drops the cane and steps in front of Matt, wrapping his arms around Matt’s torso in a bear hug, hoisting him up. Matt’s reddened back feels like fire against Foggy’s arms. He murmurs soothing words of praise and comfort, though Matt’s likely too far gone in his own head to really hear them. 

Carefully, Foggy releases one cuff, draping Matt’s arm over his shoulder, and repeats the process with the other. Matt curls into him, nose buried in Foggy’s neck, tears slick on his cheeks, taking short, shuddering breaths as he rides his pain high. Foggy takes all of Matt’s weight, and that feels just as literal as it is figurative.

He guides them, clumsy and uncoordinated, to the foam pallet in the corner, maneuvers them both down so that Matt’s mostly leaning against Foggy, wrapped in a blanket, almost an exact recreation of that first confrontation. He trails his hands over Matt’s back, pressing into a few of the welts. Matt shudders against him, presses close, and Foggy holds him, drawing out the endorphin rush with little aftershocks of pain. Matt’s more hard than not, but doesn’t seem to be paying a lot of attention to his erection. Foggy lets himself wonder what this would be like if sex were part of the equation, what it might add for each of them. But that isn’t on the table, so as long as it’s not causing Matt distress, Foggy will keep ignoring it.

This right here is what Foggy loves about this world he’s stumbled into: Matt relaxed against him, trusting him, letting Foggy take care of him. He feels calm. Content. Closer to Matt than ever, attuned to his every move, his every breath. Imagines he can hear the thud of Matt’s heartbeat.

Matt stirs, looking for a more comfortable position. Foggy force-feeds him water first, cleans Matt’s face up, and checks over the marks he left. No blood. Matt remains startlingly compliant throughout. At some point his fingers wrap around Foggy’s wrist and won’t be moved. Which is fine. 

They curl up together on the mattress, warm underneath the fluffy blanket, Matt’s ear pressed to Foggy’s chest.

“‘tgo?” Matt mumbles sleepily.

“We have as long as we want,” Foggy murmurs. “Take a nap.”

“K.” Matt drifts to sleep, clinging to Foggy like a limpet. Neither of them are moving anytime soon, and Foggy congratulates himself on keeping some of those granola bars close at hand when his stomach rumbles.

About a half hour into Matt’s impromptu nap, there’s a soft knock and the door cracks open. Jerand sticks his head in, spies them in the corner and smiles.

“You good?” he asks, voice pitched low. Foggy gives him a thumbs up, feeling dazzled by the man’s smile. That will probably never change. “Need anything?” Foggy shakes his head. “We open in 20. You’re good in here, but you’ll start hearing some foot traffic.” Foggy salutes him and mouths “thank you.” Jerand salutes him and quietly closes the door. And that seems to push Foggy right into naptime as well.

\---

When Foggy comes to, Matt’s already awake, stretched out on his side, facing Foggy with his head resting on his hand. If he could see, he’d probably be studying Foggy while he slept.

“Hey,” Foggy says, and grins when Matt startles.

“Hi.” His voice is lower than normal, and his eyes are still a bit puffy and red.

“How are you?” He runs his fingers lightly over the cane mark on Matt’s shoulders. The skin is warm and the mark is pretty raised, even to his inexpert touch. But it’s as textbook as it can be, edges precise and clean, on muscle and nowhere near bone. Foggy feels proud of himself. Matt clears his throat and shifts underneath Foggy’s touch. “Oh my God. Are you blushing?” 

“Foggy,” Matt warns. He’s up against the wall, so there’s nowhere for him to turn or hide.

“You are! You’re Blushing Matt Murdock!”

“Foggy!” Matt mock-swipes at him, Foggy slaps back, and soon they’re having a slap fight, giggling like idiots. Like Foggy hadn’t just taken a couple whips to Matt’s back, broken him down until he was a sobbing mess.

It’s an effective tension breaker, though, and soon they subside into an easy, if expectant, quiet. It’s startling at how relaxed Matt is. It’s nothing Foggy knows how to describe; mostly an absence of something in Matt that Foggy hadn’t realized had been so prevalent. 

“So we should debrief,” Foggy says to the ceiling. Matt looks at him, brows raised, and Foggy rolls his eyes. “That is a terrible pun, Matt, do not release it into the world.” Matt grins and oh. _Oh._

“Right,” Matt says. “Debriefing.”

“Yep. How...was it?” The look Matt gives him is unimpressed. “Hey, I’ve never actually done this solo before! So, you know. Just tell me what was good and what was better.” Matt smirks and pushes Foggy to the very edge of the pallet so he can gingerly lie on his back. Their sides press tight together. He wiggles, which has to rub the marks on his back against the rough sheet, and sighs in contentment. 

“I, uh. Like it on my the shoulders.”

“I noticed,” Foggy says evenly. Points to his instincts.

“And. The whips were fine. The…was that a cane?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “It’s real expensive. I borrowed it for tonight. It’s pretty heavy duty. One of the meanest out there, I’m told. I was, um, cautioned that once might be too much. But you’ve always been an overachiever.”

“Hmmmm,” Matt says. “It was good.” Matt blushes again, and Foggy doesn’t call him on it, but he can’t keep the smug grin off his face.

“I’m sure I can borrow it again some time. What else?” Matt squirms again, and he can’t be doing anything but deliberately rubbing his back against the mattress.

“Maybe next time,” and there’s a hitch there, just a little one that makes Foggy wonder what's up, “add in something...warmer?”

“Warmer? What, were the whips cold?” Foggy’s joking, but Matt shrugs, looking self-conscious. “Huh. Okay. Whips are cold and...what’s warm?”

“Paddles,” Matt says, in the same way someone admits to embarrassing past sexcapades to a new boyfriend. “The pain is…spread out? And more encompassing. It just feels warm.”

“Ok. So more thuds, less stings. Do you prefer the thud or do you like the mix?” Matt shrugs. “That’s cool. We’ll figure it out. Might get a little difficult to mix paddles in with the shoulders because, you know, lots of bone, wide and unforgiving tools. But we’ll figure something out. Maybe a stiffer kind of tawse? I’ll ask around.”

“...thanks,” Matt says, in the awkward he has whenever anyone does something nice for him. Foggy doesn’t call him on this blush this time, just knocks their shoulders together and plots. When they’re finally ready to go, they slip out the back, and go to get some food. Seems he didn’t fuck this up too badly.

\---

He calls Cass and Elton the next day, when Matt has a late class, and they get him smashingly drunk. So drunk. He is the drunkest Foggy, the one who goes on rants about why he’s not a Franklin and his parents should have known better but they didn’t so he had to go and name himself and the best he could come up with as a three year old was _Foggy._ Still better than _Franklin._

He’s also pretty sure he says something about how Matt’s trust is floppy, and sacred, and his hair looks like a squirrel fucked a hurricane. All of which they accurately translate into the fact that Foggy might want to keep Matt forever.

He wakes up the next morning more hungover than he has ever been in his life.

“Will you please kill me?” he moans.

“Oh honey,” Cass says, far too loudly. “No. We’re having way too much fun watching your train wreck of a life. Now get up, I’ll call Elton, and we’ll buy you breakfast before class.” Fuck. _Class._

Foggy barely makes it to the bathroom and vomits to the sound of Cass’s evil, wicked witch laughter and flashes of last’s night drunken confessions flashing through his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy's better at this whole 'communication' thing than Matt, but some would call that damnation by faint praise. It's also really hard to write platonic BDSM between an amateur hardcore masochist and a n00b.
> 
> Sorry about the delay, I had to go watch _Mad Max_ 3 times this weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

They go to the club during regular hours once and only once. Matt can’t handle the noise, the sheer press of bodies when things get going. Foggy flags down a Monitor, who summons Jerand, and they end up in his office. Jerand’s charm extends to the blind, and Foggy pats Matt’s shoulder sympathetically when he turns a dazed, dumbstruck look towards him. Jerand leaves them with the reassurance that room seven is theirs whenever they need it; they make a standing Tuesday appointment every two weeks.

Matt also gets to meet Cass and Elton that night. Elton promptly absconds with Matt, pulling him into a corner and monopolizing his attention. Cass doesn’t let Foggy go over there or eavesdrop, which is not what Foggy calls being a good Kink Mentor. When Elton brings Matt back Foggy has no idea what to make of the look on his face. He puts his arm protectively around his best friend and glares at Elton. 

Elton coos at him, using words like ‘adorable’ and ‘cutegasm.’ Cass mumbles something about ‘heads’ and ‘blocks.’ Foggy won’t hear it, and he won’t respond to it. But whatever they talked about, Elton and Matt exchanged numbers. Foggy would love to know what Matt and Elton are texting so furiously (and secretively) about.

Still, even if Matt and Elton do end up colluding, he counts the trip a success. They settle into a schedule that works for them, and Foggy can sleep easy at night knowing Matt’s okay.

\---

The end of the semester rolls around and they get busy with finals, both of their routines falling by the wayside. Foggy’s tired and overworked, cranky and ready for this semester to be over. He goes from final to study session to bed, rinse repeat ad nauseum. He’s got a 15 page paper due as well, which is just the worst.

He doesn’t notice how Matt gets quiet and jittery, flinching at loud noises and lines taking up residence around his eyes. He’s not _around_ enough to notice, and he kicks himself for it when he comes home and finds Matt sitting on his bed, bleeding from cuticles he’s worried down to the nail, leg jittering up and down.

“Matt?”

“I can’t focus. I tried, and it doesn’t work. I can’t— _Foggy._ ” The sheer desperation in Matt’s voice pulls at Foggy’s heartstrings. God, he should have been paying attention.

“Right. Take your clothes off.” He pulls his new, never-used duffle out from underneath his bed. He’s a poor college student, but Cass, Elton, and Jerand have been helping him source certain things. Foggy things, not Matt-things, though there’s a small part of him that hopes, maybe…

By the time he turns around, Matt’s down to a pair of blue silk boxers, fists clenched by his side, shifting from foot to foot. The bruises from their last date at Touché are all gone, and there are fresh nail marks on his forearms.

“Tell me how this feels.” He puts a bundle of rope in Matt’s hand. He bought it specifically because it’s not abrasive, has almost a silk-like quality to it. Matt hands it back with a short nod. “Alright. So obviously we can’t do a lot of impact play. Too many people around to get the wrong idea. But I think there’s something else that’ll work, at least temporarily, I just don’t want to give you too much of heads up. Do you—”

“Yes.” 

“Matt.”

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes. I trust you, Foggy.”

Fuck. That’s...fuck. Alright then.

“Okay, let me...” He places blankets down on the floor, then takes his ropes and carefully lays them out in a practiced pattern. “Lay down on these blankets...right, down a little...perfect.” He slides a pillow under Matt’s head, ignoring the frown this little comfort brings. Matt thinks he needs pain and discomfort and harshness; Foggy thinks he needs to learn a better way. “I’ve got you, Matty.” Matt nods and relaxes a fraction.

Foggy ties a basic, simple body harness that’s essentially a series of diamonds on Matt’s torso, and small triangles along the sides. It frames Matt’s pecs, his belly button, and…the aesthetic in Foggy hates the way Matt’s boxers interrupt the line of his rope. He continues the pattern down both of Matt’s legs, tying them individually. He cuts three lengths of a smaller, cheaper nylon rope and uses it to connect the leg harnesses to one another at mid-thigh, knee and ankle. (Foggy double checks his safety shears are close at hand, mentally walks himself through what he’ll do if Matt freaks out; he’ll sacrifice the rope in a heartbeat if he has to.)

He does the same thing for Matt’s arms, creating a sleeve for each and securing his arms to his body at elbows and wrists. He’s razor-sharp and focused by the time he’s done. All the tension of finals, the fatigue and worry, feels far away from him. He needs to take care of Matt, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. 

“Color?” Foggy asks.

“‘m green,” Matt says, and there’s still strain in his voice but it’s quieter. He’s relaxed into the ropes, at least.

“Good. That’s good.” Foggy lights a few of the candles from his bag—for atmosphere, he tells Matt when he looks skeptical—and pulls out a plastic Space Saver filled with various...tools. He picks his favorite and runs it over Matt’s chest.

“Is that...a feather?” Foggy barely stops himself from snickering at Matt’s incredulity, but doesn’t bother to keep the smirk off his face or out of his voice.

“I always do what I say, Matty. You should know this by now.” He runs the feather over Matt’s skin until it’s pebbled and he’s squirming. Matt bites his lip to keep from laughing. He probably doesn’t realize how it makes him look.

Foggy strokes the feather back up Matt’s body, flips his grip, and drags the nib over the same path on the down stroke, harder than he would for most people.

Matt shouts and jackknifes up, muscles straining and mouth open wide; the ropes prevent him from flailing, but the impulse to do so tightens the rope knots. Foggy forces Matt to the ground with a firm hand on his chest. He’s genuinely shocked at the contrasting, unexpected sensations.

“Okay, you’re okay,” he murmurs. He rubs over the light scratch on Matt’s chest, soothing away the sensation.

“Foggy, that...that...”

“Yeah. It’s different, right?” Foggy can’t help his smile.

“It’s...intense.”

“Good intense or bad intense?”

“I don’t...uh, good?” It’s not rousing enthusiasm, but Matt still seems to be processing the shock and awe Foggy just threw at him, so he gets a pass. 

“Okay. Well, how about I keep going. You have your words, right?”

“Right. I’m green.” 

Foggy does it in reverse this time, using the nib to leave light red scratches on Matt’s skin, drawing little doodles and patterns before flipping it over and running the soft barbs over the—

“Yellow!” Foggy jerks away and immediately reaches for the safety shears.

“What? What’s wrong, do you need to get free? I can cut the ropes and—”

“No. Foggy. Foggy!” Foggy shuts up and takes note: Matt’s not struggling; doesn’t appear really in distress because of the ties; isn’t hyperventilating or shaking. So what... “If we continue, I might, um...” Matt nods vaguely downward.

And that’s about the time Foggy realize his best friend is more than half hard in his silly silk boxers, which are currently pulled pretty tight over his, uh, bulge.

“Oh.” Well that’s interesting. Matt’s certainly had _reactions_ to scenes before, but usually deep into them when the endorphins are flying, and they aren’t a priority. “So, uh, what do you want to do?” 

“I don’t think I can stop it,” Matt admits, ears turning red. “I might even, um.”

“I’m fine with it if you are,” Foggy says around the lump in his throat. God, he never would have thought Matt would respond like this. It’s...exhilarating. Foggy wants to see how far he can go, to _deliberately_ try and provoke this reaction, but that might be pushing things. ‘Neither of us will freak out if you get hard and/or come’ is not the same as ‘everything I’m about to do to you is designed to shove you over the edge.’

“Okay. I’m...green. You?” That’s the first time Matt’s ever checked in with him, and Foggy feels like he may have just grown as a person. He wants to do a celebratory dance, but he’ll have to make do with torturing Matt until he can’t think anymore. 

“Green as grass, buddy. Not the grass in the courtyard, though, I think the Freshmen killed it dead. And a couple of the chemistry majors dump their booze experiments there too. But. Anyways. Let’s change things up, then.”

Since Matt seems to like silk, as evidenced by his collection of boxers, Foggy takes a scarf out of his bag ‘o tricks and trails it over Matt’s body. It’s a regular rectangular scarf until about halfway through, where the material is tied in a series of knots to create some texture. The other end of it has been shredded to form frayed tassels of varying thickness.

It’s incredible how responsive Matt is, how quickly he reacts. He gets attuned to a sensation so thoroughly that even a small change, like the roughage from the knots, garners a reaction. He lulls Matt into a false sense of security by pretending the scarf is a tool in and of itself.

Foggy’s prepared for Matt’s reaction this time when he rolls a pinwheel down the center of Matt’s body, from clavicle to pant line. Matt tries to curl up again, but Foggy’s already got a hand on his shoulder, holding him down. (They’ll have to test how sturdy their beds are, see if he can lock Matt down.)

He follows that up with a horizontal roll from one nipple to the other, pressing down hard enough to draw small pinpricks of blood. Every muscle in Matt’s body tenses up, a shout dying partially formed in his throat. Matt gets fully hard and a wet spot starts spreading aggressively over the blue fabric. But Foggy is a good bondage bro and ignores it (that’s a lie, he packs it away and files it under the ‘guilty’ folder in his spankbank).

Foggy has fun with the wheel, especially on the bottom of Matt’s feet. Pinwheels are so wonderfully flexible. Foggy can make it tickle one second and draw blood the next. He can make Matt squirm and laugh by rolling it gently over the arch of his foot, or swear in Spanish when he rolls it slowly, firmly down Matt’s big toe, just short of piercing the skin. The flirty touches mix with the painful ones until Matt doesn’t know up from down.

Matt is as worked up as he’s ever been during one of their Touché sessions, thrashing on the ground and straining against his bindings. A bit more vocal too, though he’s speaking primarily in Spanish. Foggy’s not sure if that’s a conscious choice or not. He _is_ pretty sure this scene will end with Matt making a mess of himself.

When he’s left marks over most of Matt’s body with the wheel, he figures it’s time for the Grand Finale.

Their mini fridge is the kind with a small freezer section, just big and cold enough for a small silicon tray of ice cubes. He pops a couple out and puts one cube in the diamond between Matt’s pecs, and the other right in his belly button. Matt hisses at the contact. Foggy makes a note to look up what “hijueputa” means.

Foggy lets the ice melt, occasionally nudging the cube around. He leaves the one on Matt’s sternum where it is, but moves the belly cube to the hollow of Matt’s throat. The rope isn’t very absorbent, so water runs down Matt’s sides; Foggy contents himself with blowing directed streams of air over them, making Matt shiver, instead of introducing some, uh, other form of temperature differential. It’s a good distraction, though, pulling all of Matt’s focus. It’s tantalizing, watching him flinch away from the cold. It’s not long before the entirety of Matt’s skin is goose pimpled, like the cold has spread through his whole body.

Foggy sets a fresh cube at Matt’s throat to make sure he’s good and distracted when Foggy picks up one of the candles and pours hot wax right in the center Matt’s ice-chilled chest.

Matt is fucking _beautiful_ when he comes.

That’s really the only coherent thought Foggy has other than, “I did that.” ( _I want that_ has been simmering in the background since Matt waltzed into his life, so that totally doesn’t count.) Matt’s boxers look black now, and sweat turns Matt’s hair into a riot of curls against his forehead. His cheeks flush a light, sunset pink. Foggy wants to see it again. (And again and again and again, but he shakes those thoughts away, for that way lies heartache.) 

Foggy’s brain reboots and he starts carefully untying Matt, cutting the nylon connecting ties first, and then working the knots in the rope free one by one. The rope has pressed beautiful woven patterns into Matt’s skin; there are going to be a couple of longer-lasting marks in a few places, but most of them will face within the hour. He’s unbound both legs, one arm and half Matt’s torso by the time the man in question opens his eyes, blinking blearily in Foggy’s general direction.

“You back with the world?” Foggy asks, trying to ignore his own reaction.

“Mmmm yess,” Matt slurs.

“How do you feel?’ Matt grins at him, a little loopy, and Foggy can’t help but grin back helplessly. Wow.

“You.” Matt’s brow furrows and—Foggy will swear to this—Matt leans in close and _sniffs_ him. He then promptly loses his balance and nearly face plants into Foggy’s lap.

“Whoa, hey there, you are some kind of high.” Foggy realizes he’s cradling Matt’s face, literally holding it up because Matt seems to have forgotten how, mere inches away from his erection. His life.

“’yer not done,” Matt says.

“Oh, we’re done. You're just about toast, buddy. Lay down and let me get the rest of this rope off you.” Matt does as Foggy says, frowning. Foggy would say pouting, except they’re grown men who have outgrown that sort of behavior. Foggy can’t help smoothing the furrow in Matt’s brow away with his thumb.

He tucks Matt in, covers him in blankets, and hies himself off to the bathroom to take care of his uncomfortable situation.

They both pass their finals with flying colors.


	4. Chapter 4

Matt decides to spend all of winter break with Foggy. Which delights Foggy’s mother to no end, and confuses Foggy. When he asks why, Matt just smiles enigmatically and shrugs. Like he knows something Foggy doesn’t and that’s...not unusual, but for some reason it sets him on edge this time.

They have this gift-giving tradition where they get each other two presents—one they can open in front of ‘respectable’ folk (aka, his mom and the rest of the fam), and one that they emphatically cannot. As far as everyone else is concerned, Foggy gets Matt a couple of board games designed for blind people (Braille Uno is going to get vicious, Foggy just knows it), and Matt gets Foggy the ugliest law-themed tie featuring a repeating pattern of [scales of justices, gavels, and law books](http://www.occupationgifts.com/media/0343-lawyer-scales-tie.jpg), and a pair of cufflinks that say, in a terrible font, [“Trust Me” and “I’m a Lawyer”.](http://guideimg.alibaba.com/images/shop/105/02/11/6/trust-me-i-m-a-lawyer-cufflinks-with-a-presentation-gift-box_1032456.jpg)

For real, Foggy gets Matt a book of ‘blind porn’ done by an artist who presses images into high quality paper—only Foggy got him the hentai version, and the centerfold is [two octopi pleasuring a woman](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1X8vzv1fYbM/T0tC4zcAmJI/AAAAAAAADwY/CN0gjE2is98/s1600/800px-Tako_to_ama_retouched.jpg). Matt laughs so hard he cries and Foggy’s mom pounds on the floor of their room with the broom to check on them. Matt gets Foggy a pair of adorable stuffed [bondage teddy bears.](http://s142.photobucket.com/user/rjgibson/media/bears_12inch.jpg.html) The dominant is wearing a bra; Foggy assumes it’s supposed to be a girl bear, but he just smiles serenely at Matt and tells him he’s been bra shopping with his sisters enough times that he knows his size and can accommodate this particular fantasy easily enough. Matt’s _face._

Foggy’s pretty sure he wins Christmas.

***

Spring semester is going to be tough, but they’re ready for it. Since they’ve gotten through most of their required classes, and they’re both pre-law, their schedules are almost identical. After the first week of getting syllabi and books, they settle in pretty well. Foggy doesn’t think much of it when they get out of their Wednesday evening class and Matt suggests dinner. They end up at an actual sit-down restaurant, not a diner, or a greasy pizza place, or a semi-fast food joint. An honest-to-God restaurant with tablecloths and salad plates and a pretty decent bottle of wine (being 21 is so cool). Matt, the sneaky jerk, goes to the bathroom and pays along the way.

Foggy feels good about the world—not just because of the wine—and tells Matt this. He gets a soft smile, and Matt tucks his hand into the crook of Foggy’s arm for the walk home.

Home: the tiny little dorm room barely big enough to fit them with a bathroom they share with two other guys. It should feel small and cramped and claustrophobic, which it sometimes does, but not as much as it should. Foggy is becoming more and more certain that it isn’t the space he’s attached to.

Foggy closes the door behind them and just feels...content. Happy. _Full._

Until he catches the furrow of Matt’s brow, the nervous way he twists the cane in his hand.

“Matt? What’s wrong?” 

“Remember that you can safeword out if you need to, okay?” Matt says, and Foggy barely has time to think, “What?” when Matt’s dry, chapped lips find his.

Oh. OH.

Oh fuck. Yes.

Foggy is very enthusiastically on board, green as the greenest thing that has ever been green. He’s just too busy thinking about how green he is to actually respond to the kiss, so Matt pulls way with a concerned, Catholic look on his face and absolutely not, Matt can take his guilt trip later.

“Green,” Foggy says, pulling Matt towards him, “I am so green I’m going to dye myself Day-Glo so people in space see how green for you I am.” Matt laughs and there is more kissing. And touching. Lots of touching. Touching is good.

Matt is very good at touching. His hands are everywhere, and Foggy’s pretty sure at some point he just clings to the bed and hangs on for the ride. Which is fair, since he’s done all the touching so far, even if it has mostly been with implements and not his hands. But Matt is a man on a mission, and that mission is to make Foggy forget what speech is. He is successful.

It’s really hard to fit two mostly grown men in a single bed, but it helps when one of them likes to pretend to be a blanket. 

“So,” Foggy says, enjoying his new, living duvet. Also, Matt has great sheets. Very comfortable. A+, will visit again. “That was...”

“A long time coming?” Matt suggests, smiling. He kisses the skin over Foggy’s. Foggy blushes.

“Yeah. I guess it was.”

***

They move their standing Touché appointment to Thursdays. You know, after they’re done spending all of their free time in their dorm room. (A 45 minute subway ride is forever when you could be spending it in bed with Matt Murdock. Also, Foggy’s already looked up life hacks for pushing their beds together.) 

Foggy is super excited to see how their new understanding translates into a scene. They are very good at sex. Exceptional. PhD good. Which means tonight should be amazing, and they’re both eager to find out what happens when Matt isn’t holding back. Except Foggy finds himself tackle-hugged by Cass halfway across the club floor. She’s surprisingly strong.

“Oh my blessed Cthulhu! Drinks for everyone! Huzzah!”

“Cass!” Foggy tries to peel her off him, but he’s not doing a great job. “What the hell—”

“You two finally got your act together!”

“You cannot possibly know that,” Foggy says. Matt just stands there, looking adorably boyish with his ducked head and a slight blush, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh please, you could have it tattooed on your forehead and be more subtle. It took you two for-ev-er, I was seriously about to lock you in Seven and turn the temperature down until you had to fuck for warmth.”

“Room Seven does not have an independent air conditioning unit,” Jerand, Foggy’s beautiful savior, says.

“Whatever. I’m really happy for you two,” Cass says breezily.

“We all are,” Jerand agrees, clapping them both on the shoulder. “And now we’re going to let you get on with your evening. Have fun.” Cass pouts but lets Jerand steer her away.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she calls over her shoulder.

“I have no interest in sounds,” Matt says firmly. And there’s progress: a firmly stated limit. Will wonders never cease?

“Oh god, no,” Foggy agrees.

\---

There’s a new sense of anticipation surrounding them this time. Almost like the first time all over again. Things will be different, Foggy’s sure, he’s just not certain how different.

It starts with Matt getting fully naked. Really naked. Wearing nothing but leather cuffs naked. Which. Wow. Up till now, he’s always kept his boxers on. That’s a line neither of them crossed, a physical barrier that reminded them both where to stop. But now…

“You’re gorgeous,” Foggy blurts out. Matt’s in great shape—way better than Foggy will ever be, because he’s allergic to gyms. He runs a hand down Matt’s back, a ritual they’ve developed over the past few months, but this time he doesn’t stop at Matt’s waist. He can keep going, so he does, over the firm curve of Matt’s ass, down one lovely leg, and then back up the other.

He steps around to Matt’s front, his hand ghosting over Matt’s ribs, over his chest, and...down. Matt’s hard by the time Foggy finishes, which drives home how much Matt’s been holding back. After that time in their dorm room, Matt would occasionally get hard during their scenes, but he never went over the edge again. Never really got close. But they’ve also never replicated the circumstances in their dorm room, sticking to Touché’s more pain-oriented play. Foggy anticipates that changing soon. But he’s got work to do here first.

Foggy touches Matt’s face, letting his fingers explore, and then kisses Matt lightly. Matt strains forward, trying to get more.

“Greedy,” Foggy says, tapping Matt’s lips with the handle of his favorite paddle. “You haven’t earned that yet.” Matt groans but settles back on his heels, waiting. Anticipating. His arms are spread high and wide, in a ‘T,’ to maximize prime flogging real estate.

They always start with a long, rectangular paddle that’s hard, treated leather on one side and soft suede on the other. Foggy alternates between the two sides as he wants, warming Matt up and keeping him guessing. The contrasting sensations work well for him, culminating in a pleasantly ‘warm’ sensation for Matt. 

For the first time Foggy gets to watch Matt’s ass turn pink, then a deep, satisfying red. He gets to set the paddle down and feel the heat of his skin, massage his fingers into the muscle and step in close as Matt rides the small crest of pain Foggy’s causing. He peppers kisses over Matt’s shoulders while he does this, tastes the flavor of his skin.

When he feels like Matt’s good and ready, Foggy switches to his trusty stock whip, concentrating on Matt’s shoulders. The ‘cold’ sting of the whip on Matt’s most sensitive area sends him rocking onto his toes, gasping Foggy’s name. That’s new, too. Matt will sometimes ask for more, or give small grunts, but otherwise he chokes back his vocalizations. But now, it’s like something in Matt unlocked and his new favorite word is Foggy.

“Look at you,” Foggy murmurs, brushing Matt’s damp hair aside, down to Matt’s lips, which part and draw Foggy’s fingers in. He captures them between his teeth, lightly, before releasing them back to Foggy.

“Foggy,” Matt exhales, smiling. Oh, Foggy’s heart, echoing loudly in his ears. “More?”

“I got you something special,” Foggy says.

Foggy bought a heavy leather flogger (courtesy of the Jerand discount), one that can sting or thud depending on how he angles it and the force, and after the first strike over his back Matt _swears._ In English. He’s got a hell of a mouth on him once Foggy gets him going, letting his new toy dance over Matt’s back and thighs. Matt thoroughly approves of his gift.

He hasn’t done a lot of work along Matt’s front, the list of things that could go wrong scrolling in front of his eyes whenever he even thinks about it, but when Foggy takes a breather and steps around Matt, he can’t help it. Matt’s leaning into his bonds, straining his arms and showing off his muscle definition. His cock is hard and red, almost purple at the tip, and smudging fluid along his abs. Foggy twirls the flogger, building some momentum and feeling it in his hand, then flicks it lightly against Matt’s dick. 

Matt tries to double over from the sensation, but he has no slack in his bonds. One of his legs involuntarily jerks up to protect himself. He finally sags into the chains, alternatively swearing and pleading with Foggy.

“Whoa!” Foggy hauls Matt to his feet. The angle of the chains could dislocate Matt’s shoulders if he puts too much weight on them.

“Foggy please, don’t—so close, I need more, please Foggy. Please, don’t stop. Green! Green green, I’m—”

“Alright Matty, hush, it’s fine. You’re green, I’ve got you. Always, yeah?”

“Always,” Matt agrees, and leans forward. Foggy rewards him with a kiss that Matt’s not content to make anything but dirty and desperate. They get a little lost in it, Matt’s dick dragging against the rough fabric of Foggy’s black jeans—the same ones he wore the first time he walked through these doors. Foggy wraps his arms around Matt and digs his fingers deep into Matt’s shoulders, over bruises _Foggy_ put there. Matt moans and tries to bend himself backwards, pushing his hips into Foggy’s hips, and his torso back into the pressure of Foggy’s hands.

Foggy realizes he’s actually really turned on right now, eager to give Matt everything he wants.

“I’m going to make you come in five,” Foggy promises Matt. Matt’s eyes go wide and he sucks in a breath.

Foggy’s first hit is a hard one over Matt’s left pec, the focus being Matt’s nipple; the second, a ghost of a blow to the right side. He lays a stripe of fire straight down the center of Matt’s chest that has him huffing like he was gut-punched. The fourth wraps around Matt’s ribs, stinging his back, front and side. 

Foggy lets anticipation of the fifth build. He draws the flogger across Matt’s chest, over his shoulder, drapes it down his back. Watches the tension crawl into his muscles, then get ruthlessly pushed back, Matt forcing himself to relax. To wait. 

Foggy swishes the flogger, smirking when Matt tenses…only to let the thongs gently brush against Matt’s shoulder blade. Matt lets a frustrated breath out and rattles his chains. 

“Temper, Matty,” Foggy taunts. Matt literally “harrumphs” at him, sounding like a grumpy old man. In retaliation Foggy flicks the flogger so it passes close enough to Matt’s face that he can feel the air move. Foggy doesn’t miss the way Matt freezes in place, or his breathing speeds up, or his eyes dilate in anticipation. Something to explore further, but not today. Today, Foggy is going to make Matt scream for him. And he starts by jacking Matt off, hard and fast at first, then running his nails over the shaft of Matt’s penis. It jumps at the touch and he whimpers, turns his face into his shoulder and bites down.

“No!” Foggy says, sharp and immediate. He grabs Matt by the hair, yanks his head up and back. “ _You_ do not leave marks.” Foggy bends down and bites over Matt’s imprints, leaves his own instead.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Foggy!” And that’s the Matt Murdock trifecta right there: Lord’s name in vain, the f-word, and Foggy’s name all rolled into one delicious sentence. He kisses Matt fiercely, then pushes him away, making him rock in the cuffs. He’s got a beautifully vicious bruise on the meat of his shoulder. Foggy honestly hadn’t known he had that in him, but damn does he feel a sense of possessive satisfaction at the sight.

He teases Matt more, with fake swings and gentle caresses from the leather. It ratchets up Matt’s tension, but it also lets Foggy get a precise feel for where he’s going to place that last hit. Matt doesn’t try to hurry him again, but he’s clearly close to reaching his breaking point.

The blow lands solidly on Matt’s stomach, with the ends just clipping the head of Matt’s cock. 

Matt’s scream starts off silent before it crawls out of his throat, full-bodied and beautiful. Matt does, in fact, come, long and hard. Foggy cups Matt’s balls and feels them jerk and pull as they empty. He rolls them a bit, drawing out Matt’s shuddering orgasm until he’s clearly oversensitive.

“I told you so,” Foggy tells Matt, who laughs even as he lists a little sideways, grinning like a loon.

He frees Matt’s right arm, which Matt uses to wrap around Foggy’s neck and pull him into a heated kiss, his fingers tangling in Foggy’s long hair. The flogger lands on the ground with a dull thud; Foggy unerringly finds the bruise on Matt’s shoulder.

Matt trails kissed down Foggy’s chest, as low as he can get with his left hand still cuffed and chained. Given Matt’s level of flexibility, he gets impressively far.

“Foggy,” he says, mouthing at Foggy’s bellybutton. “Foggy, please.” Foggy hums like he’s contemplating granting Matt’s wish, then pulls away. Matt makes a distressed, wounded noise. Poor baby.

Foggy lets out the chain enough for Matt to fall to his knees, his left hand still shackled above him. He steps back into Matt’s space, who must be tracking his steps or something because Matt immediately wraps his free arm around Foggy’s hips and pulls him close, mouthing over Foggy’s erection through his jeans.

“Fuck, Matty.” Foggy pets Matt’s head and lets him work. Matt uses one hand to fumble Foggy’s flies open, to pull him out and push his jeans down underneath his ass.

Matt rubs his cheek up the length of Foggy’s cock and that may just be the hottest thing ever. Foggy couldn’t move if he wanted to, Matt’s arm like a steel band around his hips, but Foggy isn’t interested in going anywhere at the moment. Matt may be half-tied to the ceiling but this is firmly his show right now.

Apparently, Matt wants to try and deep throat right out the gate, which—A for effort, Matt the eternal overachiever gets way farther than Foggy would have thought without a warm up. He chokes, pulls off, takes a couple breaths, then goes right back down before Foggy can even manage a _thought_.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” Foggy says, running his fingers lightly through Matt’s hair. Matt hums and oh, that is just not fair. Foggy’s grip tightens reflexively and Matt hums more, adding a little more tug as he moves downward. Foggy reaches down and digs his fingers into the bite mark. Matt moans louder and longer and Foggy’s hips twitch.

“Close,” he warns, and that just encourages Matt to suck harder, to pull Foggy closer like he’s afraid Foggy will leave. Matt does…something, Foggy’s not sure what be he wants to replicate it on Matt, and Foggy thrusts before he can control himself. But Matt stops moving, holds there and it takes Foggy a second to realize—“Oh!” 

He starts out tentative, rolling his hips so he’s fucking Matt’s face. Matt leans in and together they find the perfect depth and rhythm, just short of choking Matt. Foggy pushes that limit a little, till every fourth stroke goes deeper, cuts of Matt’s air for a second, and Matt’s fingers bite into the flesh of Foggy’s ass every time. There are tears in his eyes and he clearly loves this.

How the hell is Matt so perfect??

“Matt,” Foggy pants, and he’s so very, very close. He tightens his fingers, holds Matt’s head in place and comes, nearly doubled over, keeping his legs steady by sheer willpower and Matt’s steady presence. Matt’s wonderful, talented mouth works him the whole time, until Foggy’s pretty sure he’s just getting revenge for the way Foggy played with him after his own orgasm.

That may just be the best orgasm he’s ever had, but he thinks that about pretty much every orgasm with Matt, so. He may be biased. But still, that was really, really, _really_ good.

“Holy shit,” Foggy breathes, thoroughly wrecked. He doesn’t even possess the coordination to free Matt’s left hand yet. “I love you.”

“Uh…”

“Your mouth! I love…your mouth,” Foggy corrects lamely, damn it, too soon, he wasn’t supposed to—

“I love you, too,” Matt says, naked on his knees, with come on his chest and swollen lips, bruises all over his body by Foggy’s hand, chained to the ceiling of New York’s preeminent BDSM club…wearing a smile he saves for Foggy, loose and carefree and…

Oh.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think they quite earned that "idiots in love" tag.
> 
> Thanks for reading! This was fun. :) (I also may have kind of written a [small Elektra tag thing](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/30398890) in the comments...)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Algolagnia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544594) by [erica_schall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erica_schall/pseuds/erica_schall)




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